


The little things

by Herk



Series: The Life and Love of Mycroft Holmes [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Complete, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 09:24:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5962249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herk/pseuds/Herk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short oneshot out of My and Gregory's everyday life to bridge the gap until I post something longer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The little things

It was a good thing that fifteen years of marriage had taught Greg about compromise because frankly Mycroft sucked at them when it came to his personal life. After living on his own for several decades, Mycroft was used to get his own will precisely the way he wanted as soon as the door of his home closed behind him. And although politics nominally demanded compromise, DI Lestrade was pretty certain that any ‘compromise’ his lover offered professionally was the one true solution he had worked for from the beginning. He was far more intelligent than any of his fellow players after all. 

This didn’t mean that he always got his way though. 

Any confrontation involving Sherlock usually ended with the younger Holmes getting exactly what he wanted. That hadn’t changed much since their childhood days. There were also circumstances that forced the British government to give in from time to time - but he inevitably counted those as losses.

Mycroft Holmes simply had no experience when it came to truly equal partnerships and two people voluntarily giving in in about equal measures.

 

It started when Greg moved in. Considering the size and location of Mycroft’s home, anything else would have been silly. After spending about two hours trying to find a place for his CD collection and every attempt being met with disapproving looks, Greg had had enough.

“Mycroft Holmes - do you or do you not want me to move in with you?”

His outburst was met with a moment of shocked silence. 

“Of course I want you to move in - it was my idea in the first place.”

“Good. Now - I am a grown human being. I have possessions of my own. Both me and my stuff need actual physical space to occupy. You’re with me this far?”

Mycroft smirked at the comical exaggeration in his lover’s voice. “Naturally.”

“Since we established the basics and you are obviously uncomfortable with my music deporting anything in your precious antique living room furniture to a less prominent place… I think it’s time for a visit to IKEA.”

“IKEA?” Mycroft’s eyes almost fell out.

“Or any place where we can buy some cheap practical shelves that won’t clash too much with your style of furniture. I was just saying IKEA because they have a good web page - so you needn’t leave the house to give your input.” Greg grinned.

Mycroft relaxed slightly. “I guess we could take a look.”

“Great. Let me introduce you to Anna.”

 

Then there was food. Greg loved to cook and Mycroft liked to be cooked for but they seldom had the time to actually do so. Greg didn’t care too much where his calories came from if he didn’t cook himself and quite enjoyed takeaway. Mycroft on the other hand was always very conscious about what kind of food he ate and how much. He loved cake, chocolate, desserts, bacon and the occasional full English breakfast, but he didn’t indulge himself very often. They had a couple of restaurants they could agree on but there was the time factor to consider there, too.

In the end they often settled for a chicken-broccoli pizza. Greg wouldn’t eat a pizza without any kind of meat and Mycroft could live with chicken if he got enough vegetables to soothe his conscience. Broccoli on the other hand was the only vegetable besides peppers that Greg could tolerate on his pizza. It was a weird combination - but like the two of them it worked surprisingly well.

 

Music was a constant reason for disagreement.

Mycroft basically scoffed at anything composed after the 18th century and/or pieces that featured lyrics.

Greg was a disciple of punk.

Their collections stayed completely separated and the only CD in Mycroft’s part of the rack that looked like it didn’t belong there was the ‘Les Mis’ one. The British Government loathed musicals but refused to give up on the disk so it could sit with Greg’s small collection of West End productions.

Lestrade knew he had found an opening when he caught Mycroft reading one of his CD booklets.

“Look at you, My. Did I catch you at a secret guilty pleasure?”

The government official ignored the teasing. “Without the voices and the infernal noise of the tin whistle, the lyrics are astoundingly apt.”

Getting closer Greg caught a glimpse of the song his lover was currently reading. “‘Rainy Night in Soho’ is one of my favourites. McGowan was a bloody genius before he blew his brains out through his nose.”

“Cocaine?”

Greg sat down next to his lover. “Coke, Heroin, alcohol… you name it, he took it. He somehow is still alive, but his genius died sometime in the eighties. - I used to show Sherlock some videos of interviews, to show him what his stupidness would eventually lead to.”

“Thank you.” Mycroft leaned against him.

“Not sure how much it helped.”

“I’m sure your refusal to work with him while he was high did most of the convincing. But I’m also sure this contributed. Sherlock does admire genius in almost every form. And the thought of losing his mental capabilities is probably the only thing able to frighten him.”

 

After that Mycroft became less dismissive of Greg’s taste in music although he still refused to listen to anything featuring tin whistles. On days when earbuds and a portable player weren’t enough and they still wanted to enjoy each other’s presence, they usually settled for Tom Waits. The elder Holmes could appreciate the innovation and willingness to experiment as well as the stylistic artistry even if most of the subject matters seemed to him to be overly sentimental. Greg just loved to hear that beat down, rough voice spouting some of the most hauntingly beautiful songs he knew while snuggling with the man he loved.


End file.
